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■ The oak
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Cut on the edge of madness
Sanity bleeding with guilt Indeed nothing's what it seemed In the shape of things to come And the fog that clouds your judgement Only you are left alone Shell of butterfly, you'd be Should all be as you desire But there's nothing left to see Silence, nights hold not what you wish Sleep, and break them with your fist All that's left are shards of dreams Shards of lonliness around you Stories of a beautiful life Pormices of heaven around you... die
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